


The Songs That Remind Him of the Better Times

by skarlatha



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: But with Satyrs and Nymphs and Shit, Canon Universe, Horny Rick, M/M, Rickyl Writers' Group, Satyr!Daryl, Sorry Pagans, The Author Regrets Nothing, This is all Benny's fault don't blame me, misuse of Greek mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Spring Solstice, and Daryl is horny as fuck. The only problem is that he's a satyr, and the only thing that will satisfy him is a good romp with a nymph. Only Daryl's gay as fuck, and all nymphs are girls.</p><p>Or so he thinks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Songs That Remind Him of the Better Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bennyhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/gifts).



> Based on Bennyhatter’s prompt: “In which Daryl is secretly a satyr (complete with teeny horns hidden in his hair) and the RWG wants to kill Benny for not shutting the fuck up.” Unbetaed and I wrote this in like 30 minutes so God only knows what's wrong with it, lol.
> 
> Title is from "Tubthumping" by Chumbawumba, because originally Benny was going to also be a satyr and Daryl was going to whap him on the head and the working title was "Hornthumping" and so I had that song in my head while writing. So there you go.

It’s hot even though it’s only March, and that plus the overpowering lust running through Daryl’s veins like radioactive sludge is adding to Daryl’s atrocious mood as he stands at the prison fence stabbing Walkers through the eyes with an unnecessary amount of force. His horns itch in his hair and he’s been forced to wear especially tight underwear to try and keep the erection that’s been raging in his pants all day from being too noticeable, and if there’s one thing that Daryl Dixon hates, it’s putting olives on a perfectly good pizza. But if there are _two_ things that Daryl Dixon hates, it’s putting olives on a perfectly good pizza _and_ the Spring Solstice.

For most of the year, he can almost forget that he’s a mythological creature, especially if he wears long pants to cover up the fur on his legs and keeps his shoes on to hide the hooves he has for feet. And he likes it that way, really, because he’s always been sort of a broken satyr anyway, unable to react to the pheromones of the nymphs that went into heat around his kind on this particular day of the year. Oh, he could smell them, sure: the scent of honeysuckle and vanilla, almost sickeningly sweet in his nostrils, but while that scent had always sent Merle careening off into the woods in search of a Spring Conquest, it had only ever inspired Daryl to pull his shirt up over his nose so it wouldn’t make his stomach queasy. Which is _not_ how a good Dionysus-fearing satyr is supposed to act, and Daryl would have wondered if he even _was_ a satyr instead of a guy with too much leg hair and weird feet if it wasn’t also for the horns in his hair and the fact that his own body ran hot on these days too, a burning lust searing through him like an oil fire and leaving him feeling unfulfilled for _weeks_ afterwards, because the only thing that could sate a satyr’s lust was a nymph and Daryl just didn’t like nymphs.

They were too soft. Too giggly. Too… _female_. And although Daryl likes females just fine as companions and friends, the thought of touching one like that--well, it’s something he’d rather not consider too hard. Fucking nymphs. Fucking solstice. Fucking Dionysus. Fuck Daryl’s life, he just needs a _cock_ in his ass and nymphs just do. Not. Have. Cocks.

He stabs another Walker and instructs it to go fuck itself before pulling the pole back and letting it drop to the ground.

“Wha’d he ever do to you?” a voice asks from behind Daryl, and he whirls around and glares.

“Fuck off, Benny,” Daryl growls. “Ain’t in the mood for company.”

“Rick says you need to come back inside before you get a heat stroke,” Benny says, grabbing Daryl’s pole and pulling it out of his hands. “An’ he told me to shoot you in the leg if you tried to argue.” The younger man lifts the corner of his shirt just slightly to show the 9mm pistol in his hip holster, just in case Daryl didn’t believe him, and Daryl frowns.

“Rick ain’t my daddy,” he grumbles, blinking a bit to dislodge the mental images of what it would be like if Rick was his _daddy_. If Rick would just grab him by the hips and turn him around, push him down over a table and just--

“Fuck,” Daryl says, cutting into his own thoughts and grinding the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. “Today _sucks_ , man.”

Benny shrugs and stabs his first Walker of the day. “Still better do what he says though.”

Daryl grunts in annoyance and starts trudging back toward the prison. He guesses he should probably stop by the cantina Carol has set up and get some water at least, maybe see if there are any crackers to munch on, because between the physical exertion of killing Walkers and the sexual exertion of pumping out enough _come hither_ hormones to bring every nymph in Georgia running his way (which would just send him running in the other direction, but the hormones themselves don’t know that), he’s gotten a little peckish.

Carol must be already cooking dinner, because he can smell something delicious from across the prison yard: woodsmoke and lime, with a hint of something savory and delicious like a perfectly-cooked steak, and his cock just gets harder at the scent even though there’s nothing really that erotic about venison stew.

But when he gets up to the cantina and the fire pit, Carol is nowhere to be found, and the only cooking that’s happening is a few of the prison residents sitting around shelling peas. He sniffs the air and follows the scent, which seems to be coming from indoors.

It gets thicker and more mouthwatering the farther he goes, and his cock throbs in his pants and his ass starts to absolutely _ache_ with the need to be filled, to be fucked within an inch of his life, to _finally_ have a good Spring Solstice for once instead of a deeply disappointing one like he’s always had. He’s so lost in thoughts of being absolutely stuffed full of dick that he doesn’t even notice where the scent is leading him until he’s standing right outside of Rick’s cell.

“Go away,” Rick growls from inside. “This is _not_ a good time, whoever you are.”

Daryl blinks and focuses his hunter-tuned ears, picking up the wet whisper of a sweaty hand pumping over flesh just inside the blanket barrier. He lifts his nose and sniffs delicately, feeling lust slam into every nerve ending in his body when he realizes that _this_ is the smell, this is what’s got him hot and bothered, this is _Rick’s sex scent_.

He grunts and pushes the blanket aside.

Rick glances up at him briefly but doesn’t stop fucking into his own fist, his pupils blown wide and his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’m s-sorry, Daryl. I can’t s-stop.”

Daryl hears the soft sound of fabric seams giving way in his underwear under the sudden assault of a satyr’s cock attempting to tear its way through it. “Are you okay?” he manages to rasp out.

“Yeah,” Rick says arching his hips up into the air as he strokes faster. He squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s just today. It’s… it’s a weird day. I really can’t, um, _not_ do this. Right now. Sorry if it’s… awkward… I just--” His voice cuts out and he lets go of a tiny, high-pitched cry that sounds like the babble of a forest brook, and then Daryl’s eyes widen as Rick starts coming, shooting creamy white come into the air from a cock that doesn’t seem to be getting any less hard from the orgasm.

And what’s more… Rick’s come smells like the river, cool and verdant and refreshing, and Daryl’s mouth drops open. “You’re a _nymph_.”

Rick sags against the bed, eyes still clamped shut, and groans softly. “How the fuck do you even know what that is?”

Daryl raises an eyebrow and quickly undoes his belt, letting his too-loose pants slip down over his furred legs and pool on the floor. He steps out of his shoes too, and the clacking sound of his hooves on the concrete floor rouses Rick from his closed-eyed rest. “Think we got more in common than we thought,” Daryl rumbles in the quiet room, and Rick’s eyes flash deep, his still-hard cock jerking as if it’s trying to reach for Daryl across the space in between them.

“Jesus Christ,” Rick moans, then sits up and grabs Daryl’s hips, yanking him down on the bed. “You… you want me?”

Daryl moans and repositions them so that he can rub his straining dick against Rick’s perfect skin. “Didn’t know there were dude nymphs. Woulda had a lot more sex if I’d known.”

Rick laughs breathlessly, then throws Daryl off to the side onto the mattress, flipping him onto his stomach and rubbing his cock against the crack of Daryl’s ass. “Didn’t know there were gay satyrs either, or so would I.”

Daryl grabs for the bottle of lube on Rick’s makeshift nightstand and shoves it back at the he-nymph, mewling softly in his throat and presenting his aching ass to be filled. Rick growls and shoves two slick fingers into him at once, and it’s probably too much of a stretch too fast but Daryl doesn’t complain, just grinds his hips backward to take in more of Rick’s fingers while he moans like a whore and fists Rick’s bedsheets in his fingers.

“Can’t wait,” Rick says after a moment, and Daryl’s begging before the second word is even out.

“Fuck me, Rick,” he gasps out. “Please please please fuck me…”

“I will,” Rick says. There’s a rustling as Rick gets himself into position and then the ex-deputy chuckles. “Happy Solstice,” he says, then slams into Daryl’s willing ass with a victory cry.

Daryl practically screams, his cock pulsing come out onto the bedspread even though there’s only been one thrust, and it’s still not enough. “Come on, man,” he gasps out breathlessly. “Fuck me. Breed me. Mate me.”

Rick pulls out and slams back in again, then sets up a hard, brutal rhythm, hammering into Daryl like he’s been saving all his strength for this for his whole life, and Daryl fucking _loves_ it, rocking with him, squeezing his muscles, profanities falling from his lips like dew. Rick pauses for a moment, buried to the hilt, and then reaches under Daryl to scoop up some of the satyr’s come onto his fingers. “Lick,” he rumbles, pressing his fingers against Daryl’s mouth, and Daryl moans again and opens his lips, licking himself off of Rick’s fingers like it’s ice cream on a hot day.

Rick makes a satisfied noise in his throat when Daryl’s done sucking the spunk off of his hand, then slides his fingers into Daryl’s hair to wrap around one of the little horns hidden there. “Come for me,” he growls. “I’m gonna fill you up and then you’re going to come just from how hot my jizz is dripping out of your greedy ass. Right?”

“Yes,” Daryl whines. “Yes, yes, yes, _please_ …”

Rick chuckles and then yanks Daryl’s head back by the horn, wrenching a little cry of sweet pain from the satyr. “Take it,” he orders, then slams inside again so hard that it pushes Daryl up the bed a little, and Rick lets out a long, shuddering breath as Daryl feels the hot come start to splash against his insides, more and more and more until it feels like it will never stop, and just the sensation of Rick filling his hole like this is so erotic that he almost doesn’t notice that he’s coming too, painting the sheets white underneath them and begging, still begging, more, more, _more_.

It takes them a long time to come back down from that, for Rick to stop thrusting and for Daryl to stop pleading for him to _not_ stop, to _never_ stop. But eventually exhaustion takes over, and Rick pulls out gingerly and collapses onto the bed beside Daryl, who flips over and lies on his back beside his new lover, both of them staring at the discolored mattress of the top bunk.

“Happy Solstice,” Daryl repeats from before, somehow deadpan and amused at once.

“Well, it _is_ a happy Solstice,” Rick rumbles, chuckling. “Best one I’ve ever had. You?”

Daryl smirks and rolls onto his side, trailing a finger down Rick’s chest to circle around the base of his cock, already beginning to stiffen again. “It’s not over yet,” he says, and Rick’s eyes go sharp as he pulls the horny little satyr on top of him, positioning his dick at Daryl’s entrance and grinning as Daryl moans and sinks down for another round.


End file.
